The morning light filters through the lake house windows, soft and golden, like it's trying to wash away the night. I wake up first, tangled in the sheets beside Cyrus, his arm draped over me possessively even in sleep. Cleo's still out on her side of the bed, but her breathing's steadier now, the pallor fading from her cheeks. My heart twists—a mix of triumph and ache—as I slip out carefully, pulling on my sundress from...

Emma: Prologue The city’s a beast, its neon heart throbbing with secrets that claw at my edges. I’m Claire, forty-five, a textile empire’s polished queen, but tonight I’m a runaway, heels clicking on rain-slick streets, chasing a spark to burn my sterile life to ash. A crimson sign—The Velvet Siren—winks through the haze, jazz seeping from its door like a lover’s breath. I hesitate at the threshold, the humid night air cl...

The lake house smells like damp pine and secrets that stick to your skin. Moonlight slashes through the curtains, turning the porch into a stage for the kind of sins you don’t confess. Cyrus is out there, sprawled on the steps, whiskey bottle loose in his fingers, staring at the lake like it’s got his answers. Or maybe his guilt. I linger in the doorway, my sundress clinging to my thighs, thin as a whisper in the humid ni...

She didn’t knock. Just that soft, nearly insolent tap, like she already knew he’d be standing behind the door. And he was. The corridor outside the hotel room was stale with the scent of old carpet cleaner and something cheap and floral. One overhead light buzzed above her, casting a half-shadow across her collarbone. Her coat was long. Buttoned to the top. But the slit in the back offered a glimpse of a single bare calf...

She knocked like she knew I'd answer. No urgency. Just… certainty. It was past midnight. The city hummed the way it only does when it thinks no one's listening—wet streets, a siren somewhere, elevator cables whining through concrete. I opened the door in nothing but low light and a pair of sweatpants. Her eyes moved down my chest like they had every right. “I didn’t think you’d come.” She stepped inside. Wet hair. Lips pa...

I was on the brink of turning thirty the first time I thought of Cyrus. the first time I knew I loved him, like really loved him, the way you would someone who you wanted to spend forever with. All he had to do was say my name, Rachel. I'd probably just melt. His warm, melting brown eyes staring back at me. Forever, if we could have forever. We'd be married with one kid or two or three kids. It wouldn't matter how many ch...